


A Stranger With Your Door Key

by aicity



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Aka Guardian and Drifter get feelings as they both recover and don't know how to handle it, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chronic Illness, Developing Relationship, M/M, Other, Recovery, Sickfic, a lot of blood mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aicity/pseuds/aicity
Summary: "What they couldn't comprehend was why they were seemingly alive now, unless Panacea looked exactly like the place in which they had died."Of recovery, relationships, and discovering that living is pretty great.





	1. Holding on for dear life

**Author's Note:**

> "Entertain the cancer  
> We all answer upwards either way"
> 
> \- Hiding, Modern Baseball

 

The Guardian awoke as the tremors started.

They were lying on the ground, their face tilted to one side, their left hand lying across their abdomen. Their eyelids felt heavy, and it took them a precious moment pry them open and to recall what had happened. They could remember pain, the struggle to draw breath, and murmuring the reason for it in the first place to someone before slipping away into an inky blackness. What they couldn't comprehend was why they were seemingly alive now, unless Panacea looked exactly like the place in which they had _died_.

Slowly clenching their hands they felt the gritty dirt of the South roll underneath their gloves. They took in the red tone of it, amplified now in the evening sky, and they flicked their eyes upward and blinked to clear their bleary vision. The sky was bluer than usual now, and their mind wandered briefly as they thought about if they had ever seen blue sky before.  
  
Fresh pain came rushing back and interrupted their train of thought as another tremor caused them to shift involuntarily. It wrapped around their ribcage, where the blood was pooling in their lungs, and in a fit of panic they rolled over and hauled themselves to their knees to cough. Fresh blood joined the drying that lay splattered across the dirt, their body crying out in pain from the movement of their hacking coughs. Regret filled them as the pain from moving made itself known, and they groaned aloud as the tremors -  much more frequent now - continued to exacerbate the pain that was snaking out from their chest to leaden their limbs.

  
In a moment of stillness Guardian noted two things: their sword and companion - still functioning, so it couldn't have been too long - were still there, and that their cloak didn't feel right where it was clasped. Something felt noticeably different, but their train of thought was interrupted as they were overcome by another coughing fit, which brought with it another wave of pain. It was excruciating, but they were determined not to die again. At least it wasn't as bad as before.  
  
It...wasn't?

Guardian startled at the thought, but as they stopped to consider it they found that yes, it wasn't as bad. It hurt, and they were barely gasping breath, but they weren't on the numbing brink of death that they were before. Choosing not to question it, Guardian grasped their sword and companion, and pulled themselves to their feet. They gasped and stumbled as the ground rocked, and they braced themselves on their sword.  
  
The South gate wasn't far. If they used their sword to lean on, a makeshift crutch, they could get there. Especially as they noticed that the pain was easing as the tremors did. Only slightly, but they noticed. For the first time in their recent memory, Guardian felt the hope that they could make it.

 

* * *

  
  
After they had made it to the south gate and all but collapsed on the guard standing there, they were taken to the apothecary, and it was in one of his rooms that they awoke. Their helmet was gone, which was the first thing they had noticed, as was their armour. Slowly clenching their hands they felt the bed cover rustle underneath them, soft and light and smelling faintly of herbs. The moonlight was bright on their eyes as they cracked them open, and it lit the room as they slowly turned over to take in the rest of it.

That was not their cape hanging on the hook. It caught their eye the moment they turned, and upon gazing at it with confusion for a few minutes, everything fell into place. It was Drifter who Guardian had told their story to. It was Drifter who they had _died_ next to, and they _knew_ that they had died. They would not be able to recreate the feeling of slipping away if they tried.

The reason why their cape felt different - slightly more weighted at the base but cooler near the neck - was because it _wasn't theirs_ .  
  
It was Drifter who had taken his cape and exchanged it for Guardian’s own.  
  
Emotions they didn't have the energy to acknowledge welled up, so they looked back out of the window as a sudden exhaustion threatened them. If they saw a familiar black dog in the distance nod at them, before turning in place and walking away and out of sight, their exhaustion and pain addled mind didn’t think much of it before falling asleep again.

 

* * *

  
Guardian recovered in less than a fortnight, which stunned both the Apothecary and Guardian alike.

Their coughing cleared up to almost nothing, and the pain in their chest that had been a constant throughout the last few months had gone altogether. It was something they had openly wept in joy about, even if they couldn't understand why it had cleared in the first place. The impressive weight of knowing that their own death was imminent felt lighter from the moment they woke in Central, and continued to lift as they got better and better, as they coughed less and less, and as they breathed deeper and deeper. They had been out of the small town hospital before they knew what to do with themselves, even though that had been wanting to leave for nearly the entire time they had been there. After all, they had enough energy to dash in the small garden outside of the hospital, so why couldn’t they go home?

(They were elated they could dash without pain now, no matter how many reprimands they received from the apothecary from performing such an act so soon.)

Everyone else Guardian encountered was amazed at the incredibly speedy recovery from something that had all but brought them to death's door. Something that they weren't even sure was able to be recovered _from_. Guardian could not shake the thought that Drifter and his disappearance into the underground had something to do with all of that.

They had heard what had happened to Drifter very early on, of course. How the tremors started after he went down the lift into the Abyss, and how no one had seen him since. Guardian warded off those thoughts, as if it would lessen the grief he already felt at hearing the story.

They were stood outside their home, hesitating before entering. The door looked exactly the same. A smooth red metal, chipped and cracked from being exposed to the elements for so long, the green symbol on the front still there. They grasped the cloak that wasn’t theirs around their shoulders and chastised themselves: of course it was still there, it hadn’t been long since they were here last at all.

“No one’s gone in since that Blueskin left down south, y’know?”

Guardian startled at the sudden voice to their left. The shopkeeper that sold the guns that both Guardian and Drifter liked to use was leaning against the wall. Guardian blinked under their helmet at the very quiet arrival, but refrained from commenting in favour of answering him.

“Honestly I wouldn’t have blamed them if they did. I didn’t think either of us would be coming back, after all.” They replied, glancing back at the front door. “Not that there is a lot of valuable items in there anyway. If anything they would have been more useful to others rather than collecting dust.”

“Hah, always a drifter, you are. A generous one at that. ‘Loot my corpse, loot my house, once I’m dead take whatever you want’, blah, blah, blah.” The shopkeeper laughed darkly, and tapped his foot in the dust a couple of times at the sideways glare they received. “Kept an eye on the place anyway, after they found you in the South. Thought you were a goner, for sure. They’re fairly sure the Blueskin’s a goner, too. He left not long after you and well, if they didn’t find him when they found you-”

Guardian held up a hand in interruption. “Yes, thank you for your concern, but I’d rather not hear that again right now.” They lowered their hand at the slightly affronted look on the shopkeeper's’ face. “I… apologise. I have heard that tale a fair bit recently and I am still trying to come to terms with it.”

The shopkeeper shrugged, and pushed himself off the wall. “Don’t go runnin’ off to the South again.”

Guardian nodded at him as he left. “I will try.”

With that they swallowed their hesitance, activated the door to their house, and stepped into the dim light of the inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to my fluffy drifter/guardian playlist that inspired me to keep writing this and also the hld chat from 2016 that got me my friends today. love you guys


	2. Making islands where no islands should go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door have been silenced forever more."
> 
> \- Transatlanticism, Death Cab For Cutie

Drifter was a relatively new addition to Guardians’ life. They had lived in Central for a few years, wandering often but always returning and meeting old friends and acquaintances.

However, they had only known Drifter since they had found him in the forest. A few months at most, if Guardian recalled correctly. Even then, most of their time was spent away from the small building they both ended up calling home, paths crossing only every few days when they returned to stock up, or occasionally on their travels. Their conversations were most often verbally one sided - Drifter preferring to stay quiet - but he wasn’t averse to Guardians initial attempts at friendship. 

They had an agreement: share the house, share the maps, share the fight. Guardian was generous, offering most of what they owned in order to help this Drifter with what was very quickly discovered to be the same illness that plagued themselves. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for them to be so free to offer things, but in the short time Guardian had known him, - and what little they knew of him - they had struck up a type of friendship that Guardian hadn’t found in a very long time.

Now the air felt stale in the house as they walked in. The table was dusty. The mirror in the inner room cracked, the sheets on the bed thrown haphazardly onto the floor. Their shared things in disarray. 

Guardian had shared so much with him. A chill ran through them at the thought, not out of regret, but out of grief. They couldn’t see the things they had shared without remembering. After standing in the hallway entrance for several minutes, blankly staring at the bedroom and reflecting on what the shopkeeper had said, they moved into the bedroom and picked up the blankets on the floor.

The last time they had left this house, Guardian had died. The last time Drifter had left this house, he had disappeared, and Guardian had awoken from death. That, in itself, was sobering to Guardians disarrayed thoughts. They rubbed a free hand over their face, yanking off their helmet now they were under the cover of their own roof, the door sealed firmly shut behind them. 

What had happened down the lift in the middle of Central? They desperately wanted to know, if only to find out what happened to Drifter, but held back on the thought of the tremors that had plagued the area for the days after they had awoken. It was too dangerous, the townspeople had said when they first suggested the idea. ‘We nearly lost you once, Guardian. We can’t lose you again.’

Guardian had tried not to become bitter at the thought that Drifter had been the one to vanquish the dangers of the North, East, and West. They may have been called the Guardian, but the Drifter was the one who finally pieced everything together, and there were very few people who were concerned enough about his life to go venturing down the very lift they had last seen him. 

It made Guardians blood boil, but they sighed in defeat. They had promised they wouldn’t go down, and they were never one to willingly break a promise. Walking over to the mirror, they gazed at the pieces of their reflection in the cracked surface. Still the same face as before, gruesome pink scar covering the span of their face, their lengthy hair frizzing out of the tie they had kept it in. The deep set expression of mourning a familiar sight on their face, if a recent recurrence from the past few years.

They didn’t know why they kept thinking that everything should have changed. They didn’t know why the disappearance and assumed death of Drifter had affected them in such a way. Perhaps he had created a subtle shift in the world when he went down that lift. After all, the sky was blue now, wasn’t it? Why did Guardian recover? Why hadn’t Guardian seen their version of Judgement after it had so thoroughly entwined itself in their life? 

What did he  _ do _ ?

The cloak around their shoulders - usually a comforting weight - suddenly felt much too heavy for them to wear, so they gently hung it up on one of the spare hooks, holding it for just a second longer. The fabric was rougher than the fabric of their old cloak, the double layer providing just as much insulation as the fluff that surrounded the neckline of theirs. They missed their old cloak, but that thought that Drifter had respected them enough to exchange it filled them with a sweet sort of warmth. The warmth soon turned to a burning heat that gathered behind their eyes, and they couldn’t hold back the tears that threatened to fall. 

So they let them fall. They had lost so much, and after it all they were brought back to experience life without someone that they cared about yet again. It hurt, and the knowledge that they couldn’t go and confirm their worst fears left open a rift in their heart, one that they hadn’t even had when they discovered the bodies of their family. Guardian knew the process of grief, and they knew that they needed time, even with this new feeling of uncertainty accompanying the sadness.

Their companion took that very moment to chirp at them, and they jerked their head up toward it while wiping away a tear. The companion warbled a string of beeps at them, and to Guardian it sounded as comforting as beeps could be. They hiccuped a small laugh, and brought up a hand for the small droid to hover around. It whirled around, weaving past their fingers, chirping all the while.

“You have always been accurate at knowing what I need, my friend.” They chuckled through their shaky breaths, and pet the side of their companion, “I am thankful that you are still here.”

The droid chirped again and brought up their user interface, a small alert detailing nutrition. 

Guardian grinned at their droid. Always a worrier. “Yes, I think so. We should probably go buy some new supplies. I don’t think there was much left when we left last.”

Replacing the helmet on their head and picking up the cloak, they gestured to the droid to follow as they left the house in search of food. Hopefully the old lady’s food stand was open.

 

* * *

 

The next two days Guardian had spent mostly outside, relishing the sunlight and the feel of the wind blowing Drifters cloak around. They could see just how blue the sky was now, an unfamiliar sight for all of the residents of Central. Many of them were enjoying it, hanging out near the skeleton playing the guitar and listening to the soft music. In Guardian’s opinion, it was nearing an ideal fall day, but cloud watching wasn’t what they were standing outside for. 

In their mind they set a path in front of themselves, a path to avoid any civilians, any obstacles, any nearby walls. It felt like that they hadn't done this particular thing in a very long time. The thought that it had only been a little over two weeks since they had last performed it did nothing to calm their growing nerves.    
  
They took a deep breath, stepped forward, and chain dashed. 

Barely a haze of pink energy with a struggling companion behind them as they sped across town. A whirr of colours passed by them as they let out a whoop of joy at the feeling of incredible  _ freedom _ by being healthy and recovered and able to  _ breathe _ . Spinning while dodging all manner of things in their path. Cutting corners just a pinch too close and nearly wiping themselves out. A few weeks had never felt more stifling, sitting under the weight of an uneasy recovery and grief.

A child ran into their line of sight, and they had to quickly skid to a stop as the little hooded figure all but vibrated on the spot.

“Guardian! The south patrol’s seen the Drifter, they're gathering to go out to him right now! I just thought since he lived with you and all that you’d kinda like to know since you seemed pretty sad when papaw told you where he had gone and -”

Guardian couldn’t quite comprehend her words. Seen Drifter? 

“-had heard them saying that they didn’t know if he was okay or not but they could see a few monsters between him and here and papaw didn’t know if he should get you or not since you’ve only just gotten better-”

The words finally registered over the chatter, and the hope Guardian felt zap through them was almost parallel with the hope of living. They crouched down so they were eye level with the child, “Thank you Aubrey, thank you for telling me. Go tell your father that I will go into the South, that he doesn’t need to risk any fighters, okay?” 

Eyes glittering with no small amount of awe, Aubrey nodded and sprinted off in the direction of the town. Guardian, wasting no time with the surge of adrenaline that coursed through them, sprinted back to their home and grabbed their sword.

The chain dash out the door and to the South seemed exhausting but invigorating at the same time.

“Where is he? Where did they see him?” Guardian gripped the guards shoulder, squeezing too tightly but they didn’t care too much, not right now. The guard pointed further into the South, past the smooth cliffs, and Guardian could hear the words ‘surrounded’, ‘downhill’, and ‘growing storm’ amongst her panicked ramble. They were off again before the guard could say much else.

The weather worsened the further they ran south. The clouds in the sky formed noticeably darker ahead of them, and the breeze turned to a gale the closer they drew to the canyon. The weeks of inactivity had done a number on them, and the effort put into sprinting and dashing along the grassy paths brought back the familiar tight-chested feeling that they lived with for so long. The moment they crossed the bridge they could taste acrid sand in their mouth, the wind kicking it up toward them, and they slashed through the figures that jumped out of the brush at them, snarling and snapping in their path. 

They only just saw it when they had pushed their blade through the neck of the last Dirk that had ambushed them after they skidded down a nearby rise of sand and gravel. The faded pink of their own cape in a heap on the ground, a trail of sickly pink blood leading from one of the elevator hatches in the ground. The vibrant blue of a sword cutting through the haze of dust further back.

A rush of adrenaline overcame the weariness permeating Guardian’s body. They pulled their blade from the Dirk and pushed off the gravel, almost tripping in their rush to get over to the tell tale signs of Drifter. The storm weathered on around them, getting dust into their eyes and making them fall over themselves as they tried to dash toward their goal. 

Drifter lay there on the ground, motionless in the surrounding storm, curled up on his side in a similar state to how he looked in the NorthEast forest all those months ago. Guardian skidded to a halt beside him, dropping to their knees and gently turned Drifter over. 

“Drifter, I’m here. I’m here.” Guardian repeated mostly to themselves as they quickly scanned over Drifter for injuries. He was covered in blood - most of it old, some of it fresh - and what little Guardian could see of his face was bruised, bloodied, and pale. Guardian’s mind switched to autopilot as they pulled Drifter into their arms, standing unsteadily and shifting Drifter into a more comfortable position.

Drifter wasn’t particularly heavy, at least not to them, but the walk back through the storm weighed Guardian down like nothing else. At first every few steps they took jostled Drifter, who moaned so quietly Guardian strained to pick it up over the wind. He started coughing, and when he wasn’t coughing his breaths were wheezy, and Guardian held him close to their chest as they moved crossed the South bridge. 

“Guardian! Guardian, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

The wind carried with it the sound of voices, and Guardian looked up to see a group of Central guardians running towards them. The sigh of relief rushed out of them and they clutched at Drifter involuntarily, causing a small whine of pain.

“You shouldn’t be out here Guardian, you’ve only just recovered. We were going to get him.” One of the guards ran up to them - Fisher, Guardian belatedly recalled - and held out his arms to take Drifter from them. “C’mon, I’ll take him to the Apothecary, we need to get out of this storm.”

Guardian shook their head. “I will take him. You go collect his sword and droid. I couldn’t retrieve them before getting Drifter.” 

Fisher looked taken aback for a moment, before pulling back and nodding resolutely. “Alright, if you’re sure.” He gestured to the rest of the guards, and they ran off over the bridge.

Guardian looked down at the man in their arms, wheezing softly, if anything softer than before -

They felt the blood rush out of their face, and started moving once again toward central. Now was not time to waste. Not with a barely conscious Drifter slipping away from them in their arms. A barely conscious - but still living - Drifter.

Guardian would save him this time. They would make sure of it.


	3. Two bags of bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Broken, and talking.” 
> 
> \- Bag of Bones, Owen

Guardian was eternally thankful that Drifter was passed out when they catalogued his injuries. There were the usual suspects: bruises and light cuts, impact wounds and claw marks. More brutal gashes that Guardian stitched together and sealed off with a medpack.

However, most of what ailed Drifter was inside. Guardian knew by the rattling breaths, the pale, gaunt complexion around his eyes, how small he felt in their arms as they all but sprinted back to the small set of rooms they call home. It wasn’t until Guardian had lain Drifter down on the single bed and looked after his injuries did Guardian remember that they probably should have taken him to the Apothecary. Drifter looked stable enough right now, and they didn’t really want to move him, so Guardian took the chance to go get more supplies.

So a few hours later, as the sun was setting over central and the sandstorm in the South was creeping North, Drifter was alone when he awoke for the first time. Waking from a dream that felt as though Judgement had its long claws wrapped around his throat and _digging-_ his mind was too addled to even comprehend where he was, feverish and fitful, gasping for air that he just couldn’t keep in his lungs. It hurt - god, did it _hurt_ \- and he needed to get away from the weight sitting atop him.

However, a single sized bed is only so wide, and Guardian returned to the darkened house with Drifter on the floor, panting and gasping and tangled up in the blankets. The moment they saw what was going on they rushed over to the mess - dropping the bag they were holding - and pulled Drifter into their arms.

“Drifter - Drifter, it’s me. Calm down, you’re safe now.”

Drifter continued to thrash in their arms, coughing and hacking, blood now beginning to get all over Guardian where they held him. They were terrified, the retching sounds coming from Drifter reminding them of their own dying moments. It wasn’t until Guardian lifted him further into their grasp that Drifter’s feverish fits subsided, the effort of coughing and panicking draining what little energy remained in him.

“It’s okay, It’s okay, It’s okay.” They murmured. They weren’t quite sure exactly who they meant it for: Drifter or themselves. It was something they had found themselves doing a lot lately.

Guardian held him for a few more minutes, thoroughly shaken from the fit. It wasn’t the first fit Drifter had had through the night, but it was the first in which he had been noticeably awake, if not aware.

When Guardian finally lay him back down in the bed and covered him back up with the discarded blankets, they grabbed a chair and settled beside him. The apothecary agreed that Drifter could stay in Guardian’s house for the sole reason that they knew more about this illness than he did and that his injuries were relatively stable. Pulling their helmet off, they rubbed a hand over their face as they gazed at the now sleeping Drifter.

His breaths were unsteady, wheezy and rattling, and it took all of Guardian’s willpower not to hold him again.

Raising their head, they gazed right into the mirror, their own reflection fractured from the pieces still left in the frame. It was strange, seeing their reflection without the helmet. For the past few years they had barely gone without wearing it, so seeing their own face stare back at them jarred them out of their thoughts.

Their hair frizzed out from the low tie they had pulled it into, the grey of it reflecting an eerie shade of silver-blue in the dim light of the room. An old scar running across the bridge of their nose and around their eye, looking almost as raw as when it first healed. Their fingers traced the edge of it. It was like looking at a map of a place that you once lived in; familiar but fundamentally different.

Guardian wondered if Drifter would think the same thing when looking in the mirror, when his mind cleared from the sickness still plaguing his body. _What does Drifter even look like? I’ve never seen him without his helmet on._

They cast their gaze back over to Drifter, thoughts wandering to his face, which still had a pained look even in his sleep. What they could see blue face was pale, ashen and sickly looking, even in the dim light. They would have to pull the mask down to give him food and water, hopefully Drifter would be aware enough for that when the time came. Did Drifter have hair? Guardian didn’t know if his species even had hair, since the only other blueskin in Central always wore a head covering as well.

Perhaps when Drifter awoke and felt a bit better, they would ask.

At last, Drifters breathing evened, still rattling and wheezy but no longer wet sounding. A small blessing, in Guardians mind.

So it was no surprise when sleep took ahold of them too.

 

* * *

 

 

_“But what if something happens? I can’t just leave you both on your own. Not like this.”_

_A gentle smile, jagged teeth and soft blue eyes against a tired face. Quiet, wheezing snores from the bed behind the pair standing in the doorway. Small hands gripping the sheets. Larger ones brushing dark hair away from fevered brow before turning back around._

_“You must. We’ll be fine.”_

_“I love you.” False confidence in their voice. They shouldn’t be leaving. Not now. Never again. They slipped the gauntlet back on their hand._

_“We love you too.”_

_There was blood pouring from their mouth as they smiled._

  


Guardian jerked awake, breath shaking as the remnants of the nightmare - more of a memory, really - faded. Oh, they had realised early on why caring for Drifter felt like a stab in the ribs, but their own stubbornness had blinded them to accepting it.

They had done this before. A life-threatening sickness - not the same, but similar. Feverish fits, coughing, blood from the mouth. They leaned forward and concentrated on breathing slowly, deeply. It was in the past.

And yet, here was Drifter. Same symptoms, different cause. What a cruel twist of fate.

Still shaking, Guardian leaned back in their chair, images of memory flickering behind their eyelids. For that particular nightmare to resurface now was very inconvenient, they didn’t have _time_ to grieve, not any more. Not after they had just spent two weeks grieving over the person sleeping in their bed.

It didn’t stop the tears welling up. _I need to make sure he’s okay._

They opened their eyes. Drifter was asleep, face nearly dipped in the pool fresh blood on the pillow. Swearing to themselves, Guardian reached over and shifted Drifters head to the side, away from the blood. They had slept through another coughing fit. _It could have been his last and you were asleep-_

No. Drifter was breathing, and that’s all that mattered. They lay a hand softly on his neck, feeling for a pulse, and sighed in relief at the faint but relatively steady one they found.

It wasn’t much reassurance, but it was enough for them to relax and fall back an uneasy sleep. Once again they didn’t notice the black dog in the doorway, watching over the two drifters with calm eyes before walking out of sight.

 

* * *

 

The second time Drifter awoke, he awoke to soft beeps and humming. It was still tough to keep air in his lungs, but this time he didn’t feel trapped. Much. He rolled over, and let out a small noise of pain as he jostled his ribs. He remembered that he had hurt them badly.

“Good morning. You’ve been out for a while.”

The voice was familiar, and rather steadier than he last remembered hearing it. “... Guardian?” Drifters voice was hoarse, quiet, and the breaths that followed were shaky. The helmet-less face he saw when he finally looked up _wasn’t_ familiar, and it took Drifter’s brain a few seconds to catch up.

Guardian smiled from where they stood beside the single bed. “Yes. You shouldn’t talk, your body has been through a lot these past few weeks, I take it.” They reached over and pulled the extra blanket - Drifter’s own cloak - further up around him.

Drifter blinked a few times, subconsciously grabbing the cloak laying on top of him. He had never seen Guardians face before, and the jarring visual almost erased every coherent thought out of his mind. “What… happened?”

He could see Guardian’s face fall now, with it not being in the shadow of their helmet. Before he could only see their eyes. “You don’t remember?” Guardian said quietly.

“No. I was ... somewhere else, dying.” Drifter breathed in, his entire chest rattling. “Now I’m here.”

“Well, you disappeared for nearly three weeks. The people tell me that you went down the Diamond in Central after coming back from the south.” They sat down on the chair by the bed. “After finding me.”

“You… died.” Drifter squinted as he struggled to remember. “Right in front of me.”

“Yes. I think I did.” Guardian crossed their arms, and looked toward the door for a moment. “What you did down there, however. Whatever you did… it brought me back.”

Drifter stared past Guardian. His memory was vague and hazy, a collage of pain in his chest and blood on his lips. Images of pink and black swirling behind his eyes and behind his ribs. It made his head hurt when he thought about it, and he screwed up his eyes at the sudden pain in his chest.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry - Drifter, here, you need to drink this.” Guardians voice was drowned out by the sound of Drifters coughing, and when he could finally take a breath in, there was a cup in front of him. He reached up to idly grab at his mask, only to find it gone. There was different fabric in its place.

“I’m sorry about that too, I had to remove it. I had to get you to drink, and it was covered in blood. It needed a wash.” Guardian had a small smile on their face. Almost guilty looking.

Drifter just stared at them. And then the cup. And then back at Guardian again.

“Please drink it, Drifter.”

Their voice was tired. It hurt his head too much to think much about anything, so Drifter shakily placed his arm to prop himself up. Guardian had to help, but Drifter managed to pull the substitute mask aside a little and swallow the drink down. It was sweet - some small part of his mind supplied that it tasted like honey - and it made his stomach lurch. His eyes began drifting in and out of focus from the sudden rush of nausea as Guardian laid him back down on the pillow. He should say something. Anything to keep himself grounded.

“You… have a face.” Not want he really wanted to say, but at the moment his brain to mouth filter had other ideas. His ribs hurt when he saw Guardians face, confused and expressive, before softening into a small laugh.

“Well, yes. I do.” They leaned down, putting something on the floor. “And so do you, it seems. Rather sharp teeth too.” They pulled up a hand into Drifters view, and he spotted fresh pink marks broken into Guardians dark skin. It matched the scars lining their face, he thought. Pink against dark grey.

Then it hit what Guardian had said. “I bit you?”

Guardian actually laughed. Drifter had heard it before, but had only ever seeing glowing blue eyes crinkle under the brow of their helmet. “Not even that hard, if I’m being honest. Do all blueskins' have teeth that sharp, or are you just a special case?” Guardians voice was joking, and Drifter sighed lightly.

“ ‘m sorry.”

Guardian shook their head. “No need. Now stay quiet. Your lungs need to recover.”

Drifter frowned. “Recover.”

Guardians smile fell, before returning without the same lightness it had before. “It seems like a strange concept, doesn’t it.” They shook their head. “I haven’t coughed in a week, Drifter. Whatever was down the elevator - that caused the tremors - saved me. I don’t know if I can say the same for you, however.” Guardian looked down the bed, brow pulling into a frown as they remembered his injuries.

Drifter couldn’t concentrate. Down the elevator… what was down the elevator? He remembered being hurt (very, very hurt; it had felt like his lungs wanted to personally tear out his rib cage and crunch it into pieces), and he remembered stairs. Lots of black, lots of pink. Terrible, sickly pink.

His head swam and Guardian gasped as Drifters head suddenly dropped downwards.

“I think you’d better rest. If you can keep that drink down, all the better. It’ll save you from having to try and eat solids for another day or two.” Drifter could only just hear Guardians voice from the humming and ringing in his ears, before passing out into a blissful silence.

He hoped he would wake up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write so slowly good lord. I edit as I go but if you see any glaring errors feel free to point them out!
> 
> Also! Some plot things have gotten away from me and I'm struggling to remember where I wanted to go with this, so it might take a little bit to rework it. Thanks guys, your comments and kudos keep me writing this :D!


	4. Dors, le mal est passé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Il te rattrapera pas. Le souffle coupé tu n’es plus son appât.” (Sleep, the sorrow has passed, it will not recapture you. Breathless, you are no longer its prey.)
> 
> \- Fondu au noir, Cœur de pirate

Drifter didn’t end up keeping the drink down. Waking up again brought the room spinning around him, and what little he had eaten came back up again alongside the blood from his hacking coughs. They hadn’t subsided in the least, but Drifter was idly thankful that he wasn’t worse. It felt like he had _been_ worse but his head started to hurt every time he thought about it.

So he didn’t. Instead, he just tried to keep his food down. Everything seemed too sweet to eat, and it wasn’t until day three of his conscious bedrest did he think to tell Guardian of that fact. They had sighed and slumped their shoulders with a defeated laugh.  
  
“That would be why, Drifter. It's too sweet, of course. I’ll make some black tea.” With that they got up and moved back out into the kitchen room of the tiny house.

Drifter hummed in agreement, not having the energy to produce much more sound. He hated this bedrest; it made him feel like he was giving up from the sickness after all this time, but moving felt worse. Even after all he had gone through to get here, now that he had stopped it felt as though it had all dropped on him at once.

Guardian said it meant that he could finally recover, now that he was still. Drifter was just waiting for them to cough again, a bitter voice in his mind claiming that there’s no recovering from this. There was also another small voice claiming that if that was the case, why was Guardian here?

Drifter liked that one. He snuggled his head into the pillow, wincing as the metal of his helmet dug into one of the bruises on his face.

He refused to take the helmet off. He didn’t really know why. Probably years of sleeping on the road and having to be prepared at all times keeping his paranoia of being helmet-less in place.

Guardian hadn’t pried after the helmet, and had even given up on trying to coerce the mask off of his face long enough for them to get a good look. Drifter was thankful, from what little he remembered from being awake, and thought about how he had seen Guardian with their helmet off most of the time he was sick. Guardian had never taken the helmet off before, not even when they were both in the house at the same time, resting and preparing for another expedition. It was odd, and he couldn’t quite place any reasons as to _why_ Guardian had chosen to forego the helmet as of now.

He liked looking at Guardians face, however. He always wondered what the drifters whose bones he passed in his travels looked like, and almost every other living drifter he met kept their faces covered, or hidden. Guardian had been no exception, and yet here they were, wandering around the room without their armour or cape, let alone their helmet.

His head was fuzzy, and the disconnected part of Drifter chalked his next actions up to delirium. Very slowly, he pushed himself up, and after that he took his helmet off for the first time in the five days since Guardian found him. He took the fact that he wasn’t very dizzy right now as a good sign, and waited for Guardian to come back to the room.

He was gently prodding at his face - using his helmet as a makeshift mirror - when he heard a cut off word and a sharp intake of breath.

Guardian was staring at him, whatever they were going to say cut off when they had come back down the short corridor and noticed Drifter sitting. Their eyes were wide. Drifter suddenly felt very self-conscious, and ducked his head down.

“So you do have hair. Colour me pleasantly surprised.”

Guardians voice held laughter, and Drifter looked up through the few strands of hair that had fallen in front of his face. It curled in front of his eyes, and he raised a shaking hand to push them aside.

“...Yes. I do.” He smiled.

Guardian laughed at the use of their own words. “In any case, I’m glad you finally took that off. Maybe now your headaches won’t be as bad.”

Drifter didn’t say anything, just nodded along at their assessment. It did feel good to have the helmet off, now that he thought about it. He should have done this earlier.

Guardian sat down in the chair beside the bed, and pushed a cup he didn’t realise they had into his hands. “Alright. This shouldn’t be as sweet now, so hopefully easier for you to drink.”

They helped Drifter hold it up to his mouth, his hands shaking too much to hold it steady. The taste of the drink was nowhere near as sweet as before, and he sighed in relief as the slightly bitter drink warmed him up. Warmth meant safety. Black tea, they had said. Much better. Black tea was safe.

“Lie back down now, come on. Don’t go so quickly, you’ll make yourself dizzy.”

Their voice was soft now, and he liked that. Softness wasn’t always safe - especially not in voices - but this bed was soft and Guardians voice was soft, so in this case he made an exception.

He was getting real tired of this always sleeping thing anyway. Better to get it over and done with.

 

* * *

 

Guardian watched as the drink lulled Drifter to sleep before he slipped into a feverish delirium. While the warm drink wouldn’t do his fever many favours, it at least let him sleep through the worst of it, and that’s what his body needed right now. Sleep. His mind could catch up - _would_ catch up.

Drifter had taken off his helmet. His face was still pale and sickly, eyes a little too sunken and ringed to be healthy. Regardless, Drifter had a nice smile. He was beautiful. Their chest clenched with the thought, and they just about mistook it for the beginnings of a cough. Guardian had seen enough sickness to recognise beauty beyond it all. Of course. That was all.

They switched their attention to his hair. Matted in places from being under the helmet so long, it seemed to be a similar colour to their own, if a bit paler. A kind of a white-ish grey.

It needed a good brushing.

Guardians next thought was that Drifter _really_ could bathe, now that they thought about it. They should have carried him to the baths before he slept. They didn’t have the heart to wake him up again, and even then they weren’t sure if he would be… _okay_ with the idea of having a bath when he was barely able to sit up without shaking. After all, someone would have to help him.

They’ll ask him later. For now, they left him to sleep. Living on the road made you grow accustomed to sleeping on the ground, but Guardian wouldn’t let Drifter give up any chance to sleep in a comfy bed.

Speaking of, Guardian could only go so long sleeping on the floor in their own dwelling. They had some shopping to do.

 

* * *

 

When Guardian stepped outside, they blinked in the sunlight that shone through the trees. It was near midday, and they were bundled up in their cloak and helmet as a slight breeze blew past them. Another autumn day, and they heard laughter coming from the Central Square. It was a fall market day, and Guardian had one specific stall in mind. They hoped she was there.

While they wanted to be as fast as they could to get back to Drifter, they refrained from dashing the entire way there. There was no need, and the risk of running over a child or knocking into someone was too great. Besides, the sun was nice.

As they reached the edge of the market, they scanned out over the temporary stalls set up between the permanent ones, and spotted what they were looking for. An old otter woman sitting on an elaborately woven rug, surrounded by pillows and blankets looked up from her weaving as Guardian approached. She smiled. “Oh, I haven’t seen you for a while, dear.”

Guardian ducked their head in greeting, also smiling beyond the shadow of their helmet. “Travel. You know how it is.”

The woman laughed, a slow rolling thing that reminded Guardian of gnarled bark on an old tree. “That I do. Bettie is still in the north. She’s helping out with restoring one of the hatcheries there.” Her smile turned wistful, and then she shook her head and waved her hand. “Ah, you didn’t come here to listen to me talk! What are you looking for?”

“What do you have in the way of large cushions? Or mattresses, if you have any?”

The woman frowned in thought. “Hmm… we do have a mattress, yes. Old, but clean. Mostly wool stuffed, and you would have to carry it home.”

“That’s fine, thank you.” Guardian pulled out a handful of gearbit packs, and thumbed through them. “How much?”

“One pack, dear.”

They handed over the currency, and the woman led him out of the market and to a small house nearby. The mattress in question was tucked away in a room filled to the brim with old furniture being repaired or rebuilt. Guardian had been here once before, to get their current bed. It constantly amazed them at how this woman managed to cram so much in one room.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that other drifter that went down the central diamond, would it dear?” Her voice jolted Guardian out of their haze of thought, and they blushed under the helmet at the implication of her words.

“No!” They shook their head a little. “No, not in any way like that. He’s bedridden still, and for all my years as a drifter, sleeping on the floor has never gotten any more comfortable.” They chided, not bothering to keep the amusement out of their tone regardless.

“Ah, forgive me.” She laughed, “I guess I’ve been listening to rumours too closely. Come, let’s find that mattress.”

They should have expected rumours, with the way they had fretted over Drifter and grieved him when they though him dead. Still, that thought didn’t stop the wave of embarrassment wash over them. They’ll have to apologize to Drifter later, when he was well enough to understand the repercussions.

The mattress wasn’t a hard find, and after a few minutes of maneuvering, Guardian managed to wrangle the mattress out of the room. After a moment to catch their breath, they hefted the mattress up onto their back, leaning forward to take its weight. A round of thank you’s and well wishes with the woman, and Guardian began the job of hauling the mattress back to the house.

 _‘No wonder there’s rumours, Guardian. You bought another bed just because your friend is sick.’_ A small voice in their head spoke, and they shook it away. There were two of them living there, surely buying another bed is the most sensible thing to do.

They didn’t really stop to question when exactly Drifter had started living in their house in the first place. Maybe from the moment Guardian carried him in from the Northeast, and let him rest in their bed.

Enough thinking. Guardian had work to do, and a mattress to carry back home.  


* * *

 

_He had been here before._

_Except, this time the water was clear. Free of the blood that had tainted the land and the sky. His footsteps made small ripples as he walked along, holding his side. He didn’t hurt, even though he thought he should but that was okay. Everything was clean now, so it was all okay. Lifting his head, he gazed ahead at the expanse in front of him._

_There was a dog._

_A very familiar one, actually, with the diamond halo always behind its head and the odd hum that seems to accompany it. It was sitting in the water, staring at him with empty pink eyes._

_Drifter didn’t know how long the two stood in the shallow water and stared at each other. After a while he held up a hand in a tentative wave._

_The only response the dog gave was a huff._

_Then it turned, and walked into the entrance of a tunnel that suddenly rose up out of the water before them._

_Drifter followed. The hallway was long and dark and somewhat familiar-_

_Ah._

_Judgement; huge, menacing, and frozen in front of the cracking faces of the diamond cell._

_The dog walked around it, and turned its head back to Drifter as it did so._

_He felt a tickle in his throat, and cleared it._

_And cleared it again._

_And coughed._

_And coughed more._

_Before long, Drifter was coughing hard enough that his eyes were watering, and the dog just sat and watched. Sitting there, on the stairs that led around and up behind the grim figure of Judgement frozen before him._

_Drifter stepped closer to the dog, and it stood. Another step, and the dog turned, and walked up a few steps itself. Drifter stopped, and the dog stopped._

_He walked closer, and the dog walked up more stairs, and out of sight._

_It would be kinda nice if the dog could talk, then Drifter wouldn’t just have to follow it and hope for the best._

_He did._

_The stairs began to hurt his chest as his breathing laboured, as the dog kept walking up and up until Drifter couldn’t even see it on the stairway ahead of him anymore. His feet kept moving even though his brain was screaming at him to rest, as usual, after all this kind of thing was just another day to day thing he’s dealt with over… a long time._

_He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he wasn’t plagued with the constant sticky feeling of something in his throat. Wow._

_Tears still formed in his eyes from the coughing, and as his feet wouldn’t stop moving the heaving coughs became sob riddled. Tears streamed down his face and soaked into the mask alongside the blood he could taste from his mouth._

_But he had to keep climbing the stairs. He had to, no matter how much his chest hurt now. His mask pulled down to let the blood he was coughing up roll freely down his face, gripping tightly to the cloak that wasn’t his - but it_ **_was_ ** _his now, he was a drifter after all - he climbed._

_Eventually, on his hands and knees. Then dragging himself up stair by stair, and somehow the stairs flattened but he was still going up and there was dust and sand-_

_And a voice._

_“Drifter, I’m here. I’m here.”_

_Oh. So he was dead. That was Guardians voice, and Guardian had died while he watched, so there was really no alternate option other than that Guardian had come to greet him as he moved on._

_Pink and sand turned to ash in his vision as the colour faded away, and he felt strong arms picking him up. Apparently even in Panacea you can pass out._

_How disappointing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing is hard, writing often is even harder, and writing long scenes is probably the hardest. bless yall for stickin around. also feel free to point out any errors, I edit as I go but it's not being beta-checked :')


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